El Camino
by jmkw
Summary: Post UTW. Jordan has enough to deal with. She doesn't need to worry about her ride. Or does she?
1. Grand Theft Auto

**Disclaimer: They aren't mine. If they were I'd get paid the big bucks for plot bunnies. **

**This takes place directly after "Under the Weather." I just couldn't face the fact that Jordan's El Camino was gone. **

**This is also the first solo fic I've written in forever. I like working with the ladies of Niva La Vough too much.**

**I know it has problems but as Sam reminded us ****-_Be gentle_. **

**As always, reviews are my drug of choice. **

* * *

_Nineteenth Precinct, Boston Police Department_

_9:23AM _

Woody pinned his eyes on a point just over his lieutenant's left ear. This isn't the first time he's been reamed out by the old man, but it was the first time he felt totally justified by his actions.

"We'll be damn lucky if some hot shot lawyer doesn't get this case thrown out of court. Just what in the name of all that is holy were you thinking out there?"

"I was all thinking about those kids...sir. I wasn't going to let those children die because of some legal mumbo-jumbo kept our hands tied."

"That legal _mumbo-jumbo _is what we have sworn to protect."

The only thing that kept Woody from lashing out at the man was the stiff reminder of his gentle persuasion of the suspect swelling his hands to the point were he couldn't make a fist if he had to.

"Go home Hoyt. Get cleaned up, get some rest. You left me in a tough spot Detective. I need to think about what I'm going to do. You're dismissed."

Woody nodded woodenly not trusting his voice to say anything that would land himself in to deeper hot water.

"Off the record? If it's any consolation, you guaranteed a happy ending to this whole mess. Those families and Dr Cavanaugh owe you their lives."

It was one thing that those kids were missing and the odds of a positive outcome were fading with every passing moment, but finding out that Jordan was a victim of a murderer's cover up took whatever self restraint he had left away. In the end Jordan kept her wits about her and kept them all alive. Woody, and all of his tender tack, was running back up. Dr. Macy and Jordan had the situation was totally under control.

"It was Jordan who saved them, sir."

"How is she?"

Woody felt his ramrod posture loosen under the weight of his exhaustion and guilt, but he didn't show it. He still stared at the citation hanging just over his bosses shoulder. Woody figured by the time he left he'd have the wording memorized.

"I understand she refused treatment from the paramedics. I guess she's fine. I didn't stick around the scene very long. I had to come back here for booking. I assume a black and white...or the CME took her home."

The older police officer studied his subordinate with a curious eye. It wasn't the first time the impertinent, but lovely medical examiner was is a life or death situation, but it was the first that a certain young detective didn't make sure her welfare was being taken care of before finishing his job.

"Yes, well, I'm sure she's being taken care of. I want your report on my desk by close of business tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Woody let himself out of the office and into the bullpen. There were a few mumbles and bills exchanged. He wasn't surprised. Woody knew he was a disciplinary action waiting to happen. He worked his way over to his desk deciding to get a jump on his report even though he was ordered to go home. Home was just four walls and demons. He was more comfortable at his desk.

One by one he thumbed through the folder of official documentation that had collected on is desk over the span of the search. One particular pink copy stood out. An abandoned vehicle report with the make and model of Jordan's El Camino scribbled across it from the reporting officer who was there when the towed her vehicle out of the reservoir. The scrawl went on to say it could by found in the city impound. A rat's nest of a junk yard in South B. It was just waiting for the case to be closed and its potential usefulness to the department finished.

At least that's what the legalese on the bottom said. All that was left was to call Jordan and tell her that she had seventy two hours to claim her property before it becomes property of the city.

And by the looks of the yellow post with the bold block letters "HOYT" stuck on the top it was a phone call that apparently had been left for him to do.

"...great"

Tossing the rest of the file on the corner of his desk, Woody stood up and stretched. The phone was only inches away where Jordan's building was ten city blocks and two construction detours away.

Woody walked out of the office double checking that his car keys were still in his pocket. If he was lucky he could just slip the paperwork under her door.

* * *

_Pearl St_

_9:58AM_

Woody stood outside her door debating on the intelligence of his presence. Of course she'd be home. Sick and in bed, like she should have been twenty-four hours ago. He took a deep breath and knocked. He didn't have time to rethink and retract his steps. The door cracked open a fraction of an inch and he was face to face with a pair of eyes that were bloodshot as his own.

"Woody? What are you doing here?"

Her head was stuffed up like her cold had just taken a break long enough to save her life, then doubled up in its effort to run her down. The legal notice that had been burning a hole in his pocket since he walked out of the police station was suddenly unimportant.

He looked anywhere but her face. "Are you okay?"

"I thought we covered that at the park." Jordan said wiping her nose with a ragged tissue.

"Y...Yes, well, I thought I'd let you know that Strauss is being arraigned as we speak."

His tone was as cold as her feet. She curled her toes inside the thick cotton of her socks wishing she could just go back to bed. She didn't need this. Not now, not like this, not when she didn't have the strength to try an understand.

With an irritated sigh she gripped the edge of the door. "...And you came all the way over to tell me this? Thanks...Thanks for the update..."

Just as she was ready to shut the door in his face Woody's hand lashed out to stop it. At eye level, Jordan couldn't help but notice the bruises on his hand. Woody felt her look of contempt from the abrasions on his knuckles straight through to the spot where his heart used to be.

"He killed two people and left those kids to die. He left _you _to die Jordan. We had nothing. I did what I had to do and I'd do it over again if I had to."

"Do you think if you tell yourself that enough it'll make it alright? It doesn't work like that Woody."

He didn't stop her as she slowly shut the door and threw the lock.

Almost as an after thought Woody pulled the paperwork from his back pocket. He debated on whether to disturb her again or just slip it under the door like he had planned. After everything she had been through she didn't need to deal with that.

He may have not been able to hold her when she needed it but he could at least save her having to untangle the red tape to see what was salvageable from her car. He owed her at least that much.

* * *

_Farquhar Street Impound Lot _

_11:08AM_

Woody double checked the locks on his car doors before he flashed his badge at the lot attendant. He had to side step to miss a stream of tobacco shooting from the man's mouth. Woody forced a friendly smile.

"Hi, I'm Det Hoyt. I'm here about a vehicle that was towed in around midnight last night, a Chevy El Camino?"

"You with the crime lab?"

"No, I'm with homicide."

The lot attendant's eyes light up thinking his boring day was suddenly going to get a bit of excitement. "You mean someone _died_ in that thing?"

"No, I'm just here to see about getting it released."

With a sigh of disappointment the attendant unfolded himself from his position on a grime incrusted roller chair and grabbed a large ring of brass key's connected to what appeared to be a section of exhaust pipe. There must have been a question in Woody's eyes because the man laughed with a hack that only came with years of chain smoking and tough life.

"You never know what you'll run into out there. Nobody's gonna mess with ya if you're carrying a piece of steel like this. "

He palmed the pipe like Joe Don Baker in Walking Tall and Woody chuckled uncomfortably and followed the man into the yard. They were greeted to the sight of row upon row of vehicles in all levels of mobility.

Most were jacked up on blocks, their owner's victims of parts thieves that can strip a vehicle in speeds that would make a NASCAR pit crew impressed. Then there were others that were simply towed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Woody noticed a few were tagged with more then the usual meter maid chalk. The high chain link fence did nothing to keep out the gangs that called that particular neighborhood their home.

"Here it is," the attendant said pointing the end of his "key ring" at the sodden El Camino. "Pity, I have a soft spot on my heart for these things. It sure as hell isn't going anywhere to soon."

Woody ignored the man and took a closer look. Jordan's El Camino was never pristine but it most definitely had seen better days. It was most probably beyond repair.

Kind of like his friendship with its owner.

The grill was caked with mud as was the under carriage. The interior looked like a total loss from the water damage yet the hood release worked as well as he remembered.

It seemed like a life time ago when he volunteered change the oil. Even that was an adventure. Woody shook his head remembering how they argued over everything from the proper tool to use to the size of the oil filter. After that day he swore he'd never help her with her car again...until the following week when she got a flat tire.

"The whole system will need to be flushed and primed..." the attendant said through a roll of tobacco in his cheek.

Woody took out a pen light and looked at as much of the block as he could see. It looked solid.

"The interior is shot. Even if you can get it running again it'll smell like a wet dog every time you turn on the heat."

Woody gave a cursory check to the power steering and oil fluids. Both were contaminated.

"It'll take more then it's worth to put this thing back on the road. It's totaled mister."

Woody slammed the hood down and said, "Probably." He wiped his hands on the back of his pants and said, "I'll have a tow truck out here this afternoon. Until then let me take care of the impound fee."

The attendant looked at Woody like he had lost his mind. "Okay..." He looked at the police report and frowned. "I thought you said your name is Hoyt. This says this vehicle belongs to a chap named Cavanaugh..."

"The police department is not ready to release this vehicle to its owner quite yet."

The both knew it was a boldfaced lie but as long as the fee was paid and the release form was signed the lot attendant didn't care.

There might not be any help for his relationship with Jordan but he could fix at least one thing that was wrong.


	2. Dude, Where's My Car?

_K&B Collation and Body_

_3:47PM_

Woody leaned on the side of his car in front of the only body shop in town that would even consider taking a look at Jordan's vehicle.

K&B advertised that they specialized in fire and water damage. One look at the single bay shop and Woody wondered if it was actually a cover for small time chop shop.

With a grunt of acceptance, Woody tipped his paper coffee cup to his lips only to find it empty. He didn't remember finishing it. His fried brain screamed for a refill even though he knew he needed food, rest and shower more. And not necessarily in that order, he thought to himself wrinkling his nose. He resigned himself to the fact he needed to go home as soon as he talked the mechanic.

Jordan's El Camino was sitting forlornly on a lift just inside the open bay door looking more hopeless now that the mud was drying and the dripping had stop to an occasional drizzle. The interior was spread around the drive, drip drying in the afternoon sun, already earmarked for the dumpster. That was if it wasn't tossed in the bed and dragged to the junkyard with the rest.

"Well..." the mechanic said emerging from his spot under the front wheels.

Woody stood up straight. " '_Well'_ as in I'll have it ready for you by Friday or '_well' _as I'll give you fifty bucks for the parts."

" '_Well'_ is as I think you'll be better off with the fifty bucks, but I can fix it. It's going be more than it's worth Mr. Hoyt. You really should just call your insurance company and claim the loss..."

Somehow Woody doubted Jordan had full coverage on her car, so the idea of making a claim was out of the question.

"Ball park? What kind of money are we talking about here?"

The mechanic scratched his a rolled a figure off the tip of his tongue that was eerily close to what Woody had in his savings account...give or take grand...or two. For what this was going to cost Jordan could have a new car. Well, maybe not new, but new used...very used. Leaving him at square one...Her El Camino.

"Fine. Let's get started," Woody said with a note of finality. He'd worry about the finances later. Right now he had one thing and one thing only on his mind: To make everything alright again.

Woody filled out the paperwork and slapped his credit card on the table to get the work started. He wouldn't have it by Friday, but they promised him by the following week.

The mechanic tapped his pen against the frame of the garage door and watched Woody climb in his car and drive away.

He didn't miss the badge on the other man's belt, nor did he miss the fresh contusions on his hands and forearms. There was more to the story to this El Camino then just a swim in a lake. But he wasn't paid to worry about that. He turned back to the strange little car/truck on the lift. He was always a sucker for these things. He lost his virginity in the bed of a gun metal grey Camino the same year Steve Austin was kicking fembot butt.

"We can rebuild him. Better than he was before. Better... stronger... faster..."

He was still humming the theme song to _The Six Million Dollar Man_ as he began to pull the engine apart.

* * *

_Medical Examiner's Office, City of Boston_

_Tuesday 8:55AM _

"...and just who am I suppose to call?" Jordan asked sharply in her phone as she stepped off the elevator. "That's right Chevy...El Camino...the kidnapping ...correct. Someone will get back to me...right. Thanks."

"..for nothing." she sighed disconnecting the call.

"Dr. C! We weren't expecting you today! You're sick! Welcome back! You should have called...oh my! " Emmy shrilled from her point at the receptionist's desk.

Jordan briefly wondered if the woman ever just said 'Good morning' or 'Hi'. No. She was always straddled that thin line between little-miss-sally-sunshine and sheer hysteria. It wouldn't surprise her at all if Emmy showed up to work one day waving an Uzi.

"I was only out for one day. I'm feeling much better," Jordan smiled thumbing through the message folder on the counter. She didn't feel that much better but she was never one to just sit at home and eat chicken soup. "Did I happen to get a call from the police department yesterday about my car by chance?"

Emmy screwed her face in thought as if she were re-living each and every phone call placed to her switchboard the day prior.

"The police department? ...no," she said tapping her chin. "I'll make sure to get the message to you as soon as possible if they should call."

"Thanks," Jordan said taking a tissue from the box stationed at the end of the counter. The ones in her pocket were all used and she didn't think she could make it down to her office and the half empty box waiting for her on her desk. There were some New Age philosophies that claim sickness can be conquered simply by mind over matter. Right now the matter was getting ready to drip down her lip.

Jordan wiped her nose and put herself on auto-pilot heading to her desk and what was surely a few tasks to keep her occupied until she could convince Garret she was healthy enough to do her job. As she walked she scanned the fistful of pink while-you-were-out memos in her hand for any word about her missing vehicle.

Nothing, notta, zilch. Her only form of personal transportation was MIA in a red tapped haze of city government bureaucracy. Between her Dimetapp habit and taxi cab tab money was going to be tight by the end of the week if she didn't get any answers.

"I thought I told you to take a few days off." Garret said, intercepting her before she could reach her door.

When he dropped her off at her apartment yesterday morning Garret made her promise to take the rest of the week off. After everything she had been through he wanted her to have time to recover. He freely admits he had become used to her almost anal diligence to her job since he came back, but he could spare her if it meant keeping the rest of his staff from calling in sick with her head cold.

Garret's question snapped her out of her momentary stupor. She just smiled and ignored him with a bravado he had to respect, even if it drove him nuts.

"Good morning to you too." Her smirk lost all of it punch when she had to turn and blow her nose.

"What part of paid sick leave didn't you understand?"

"I don't _do_ sick very well. Day time TV is for the birds and you can only stare at the walls for just so long." Even as she was talking she was checking her desk phone for any messages from the department about her car.

"Here's a novel idea. Read a book; get some sleep; invest in a vaporizer."

Jordan's only answer was a handful of coughs that she tried valiantly to hold.

"Go home Jordan."

"Easier said then done. I can't find my car."

"I told you yesterday Strauss ditched in the reservoir. I'm sure they towed it to the crime lab or impound. I hate to say this Jordan but I doubt it's even drivable. It had to be dragged out of twenty feet of muck and water. Of what I saw it was pretty well totaled."

"I'd still like to see it...and clean out the glove compartment."

Jordan hated to admit it but there was something almost physical about her property being destroyed. Even after everything Strauss had done to her this lingering reminder left her feeling uneasy. She wouldn't be able to put it all behind her until she could take care of this last detail.

"I'm sure the department will call you after their finished with it. As stands they are going to need as much as they can get on this case. Hoyt really jeopardized the hope of conviction with his actions."

"Tell me about it," Jordan snorted. "He stopped by a couple of hours after you dropped me off to try and convince me what he did was right. I hope whatever crap he's going through ends soon. I'd hate...I'd hate to see him lose his career because he's turning into some kind of vigilante."

Garret started to say something else but stopped himself. "Is he getting any help?"

"I don't know. I haven't really talked to him in months."

Her voice was calm, almost without emotion. Garret didn't press. It would mean opening a can of worms he was in any hurry to do. He also didn't press her any further about going home.

"Alright. I'm sure someone from the department will contact you soon. Until then I'll pick you up and take you home. You just call me when you are ready to leave."

"Thanks Garret," she replied with a shaky smile.

"Jus...Just don't breathe on anybody."

"Yes sir," she grinned.

Garret looked her over one more time alike he was letting her slide on some kind of unspoken inspection. Jordan shut her door. She tried to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her but all she could think about was the shell-shocked face that knocked on her door the morning before.

He was taking care of what the bullet didn't have the chance too. He's killing himself from the inside out and there wasn't a damn thing she or anybody else could do about it. She knew because she had been there herself.

The only person that can stop Woody's self destruction was Woody himself.


	3. A Gallon of Gas

**Big thanks for the reviews. It's nice to know somebody is reading this stuff. Sorry for the long delay in update. Life can get crazy. I hope to wrap this up in one more chapter keeping it short and sweet...and hopefully soon.**

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* * *

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_Nineteenth Precinct, Boston Police Department _

_Monday 6:03 PM _

Woody leaned back in his chair and stretched his back. Sitting for long lengths of time still made it stiff. He should be thankful he could feel it at all. Most days he felt that way...Today wasn't one of them.

For the umteenth time in as many weeks, He was up to his ears in administrative busy work. The department lackey until further notice. Maybe they should just go ahead and change his job title. Maybe they would right after they tattooed "On Restriction" permanently across his forehead.

His lieutenant also not-so-gently reminded him that his advancement points were evaporating right before his eyes. He'd still be beat detective by the time he was forty at this rate.

At least he still had a job. Strauss confessed.

Being stuck in the penalty box meant over-time pay was not available. Not wanting to go home, but unable to stay there he remembered it was five o'clock somewhere But since he didn't have any money to buy a drink it was a mute point.

There was nothing left to do but try K& D again.

Woody called periodically during the day. They should have some word, anything, about the due date for Jordan's El Camino.

He already had to put out more than a few fires Jordan had set. He smiled to himself thinking how tenacious she can be. Could he blame her?

He should have come clean with Dr. Macy last week when he inquired if Woody had any information.

It was true Jordan didn't have full coverage on the car, so it was necessary to make a claim to her insurance company other than to have her policy cancelled. Woody convinced Garret to tell her to hang tight...he'd "look" for the Camino himself.

Of course that was a big fat lie, one in a line of many, but how could he explain "stealing" her car out of lock up, ordering repairs he had no right too, and covering for his crimes by justifying them too himself by saying that his intentions were in the right place.

Then why wasn't he feeling good about this? A simple random act of kindness normally left him felling better about himself. Granted, rescuing Jordan's car wasn't actually random and hardly simple but he should a least feel something, anything.

Maybe it was true. Maybe his conscious was gone. Maybe the whispers were true. Something dead inside him and there was nothing he could do to back it back.

* * *

_Medical Examiner's Office, City of Boston_

_Tuesday 8:05PM_

To Jordan, shopping for a used car was like ordering the chef's special in a restaurant. There was always that fear of things inside that even forensics couldn't put a name to and that you'd be revisiting the whole mess in the ladies room an hour later.

Hitting the last week's worth of newspapers, Jordan had narrowed down her possibilities to a '87 Ford Tempo with a scant 200K on the odometer and a '77 Cadillac Deville that advertised the vehicle's body rust was covered by _matching_ paint.

She wanted her El Camino back...but as far as she could tell it has been confiscated by aliens from another planet. The Boston PD couldn't even verify it was ever towed out of the reservoir.

She was kicking around the idea of taking up roller-blading into work when Garret knocked on her doorframe.

"Why don't we stop off at Mike's Pub tonight before I drop you off? You look like you could use a break."

"It sounds good," Jordan said grabbing her jacket. "I've been living on take out all week. My refrigerator is empty."

"You should have said something Jordan. I don't mind taking you to the store."

Jordan waved off his concern with a flip of her wrist. "I need to start thinking about getting myself mobile again."

"In all likelihood you're probably right. If they haven't found it yet...they're not going to."

Jordan snorted. "Water and all, it's probably been striped down and its parts half way to Mexico by now."

"Maybe," he said grabbing her jacket off the back of the sofa and handing it to her. "I did talk to Woody about it yesterday and he said he'd make some calls. Somebody has to know something."

"It's not really that big of a deal. I just...I just really want to put this whole thing behind me."

"Why do I have a feeling this really isn't about your car."

Jordan inwardly flinched at Garret's implication. If she kept on telling herself that all she was concerned with was getting mobile again she wouldn't have to put a name on the feelings of helpless terror that were stirred up from of being trapped underground. Garret didn't need to know. Nobody did. She survived. That's all that is all that counted.

"Of course it's only my car." she smiled with false bravado.

Later, when she was alone, she could relive that helpless feeling of being buried alive...again. Her nightmares were inevitable. The frequency was only determined by how much sleep she allowed herself.

* * *

_K&B Collation and Body_

_Wednesday 12:06PM_

Woody walked in to K&B half expecting to see Jordan's El Camino still looking like some perverse version of road kill. He was stunned to see the opposite.

"Now," the mechanic yelled over the sound of a reciprocating saw ripping through crinkled metal of the shop's next project. "The paint'll need to set a few weeks before you try and wash it. Especially around the filler we used around dents and rust. The engine'll need to watched for leaks. I prefer to keep this baby for a day or two and test it more but I can understand why you want her back so quick. They don't make 'em like this any more."

"No, they don't," Woody smiled climbing inside. The reconditioned bench seat didn't need a seat cover to mask the duct tape holding the springs inside. The radio still didn't pick up any stations but the rocker arms in the engine didn't knock like they did before.

"Oh...yeah...there's only about a gallon of gas in the tank. You're going to need to fill it up."

Woody blinked.With the amount of money he dropped in this place you'd think he'd get a tank of gas. He nodded that he understood.

"Well, I guess that's it." the mechanic handed Woody the receipt and Woody drove the rescued El Camino out of the garage. He had to admit it was a sweet little car/truck...whatever the hell it was. He hoped it had a small tank. He only had about ten bucks to his name before payday.

Woody headed for the morgue hoping that Jordan was else where. He didn't want fanfair. What he wanted he couldn't have. He'd settle for washing his hands of this whole mess and get on with his life.

Hopefully, with a clearer conscience.

* * *

_Medical Examiner's Office, City of Boston_

_12:49PM_

Parking Jordan's car in her parking spot anonymously was not a problem. Dropping her keys off on her desk proved to be more difficult. Telling himself that if anybody asked he was just dropping off some paperwork, Woody let himself into Jordan's empty office.

"Detective Hoyt! Detective Hoyt!"

Woody scrambled to keep his heart from exploding out of his chest at Emmy's scream from the hallway. He quickly dropped the keys on Jordan's desk.

"If you are looking for Dr C. she's in Autopsy One!"

So much anonymity. "Thank you Emmy. I was just dropping something off for her."

"I'll be happy to make sure she gets it," Emmy panted as she reached him.

"It's not important." he hemmed. One would think lying would get easier over time.

"Do you want me to give her a message?"

Woody shook his head. "No, thank you."

If Emmy found his actions odd, she didn't show it. Like a bee on a mission, she simply buzzed away and Woody was able to leave without drawing anymore unwanted attention.

* * *

Later, an exhausted Jordan looked for a few moments of peace and quiet in her office. She was finally able to crave out a few hours of sleep the night before. She had decided with or without her car she was going to have to move on. Digger had taken so much of her life already she wasn't going to let him win again after so many years. 

Still, she was tired and that fatigue brought its own wave of paranoia. Even though she was obviously alone in her office, she felt like something was wrong. Something was out of place.

Someone had been there. The sensation was almost overwhelming. Before she shut the door she gave the room a cursory look. It didn't take long for her eyes to zone in on the keys haphazardly lying by her phone.

"What the..."

Jordan palmed the keys. The metal was cold. Whoever put them there was long gone. Instead of the hair going up on the back of her neck she felt oddly curious...just like a kid on Easter morning that had been left a clue on where the Easter Bunny hid her basket.

She had her keys...Now where was it?

"_NIGEL? WHERE'S MY EL CAMINO!" _


	4. Driving the Proof

_Medical Examiner's Office, City of Boston_

_12:49PM_

Jordan was no more than two steps into Trace before Nigel stopped her. "I told you love I have no idea. The lo-jack was either damaged or disabled after it was towed from the water."

"This..." she said jiggling the newly surfaced keys in front of her, "has your name written all over it."

Nigel palmed the keys from her outstretched hand to verify for himself that indeed they were hers. "Where did you find these?"

Jordan snorted as if to say '_where you put them'... _

Only the look on his face and the tone of his voice were too honest in their surprise to believe he had anything to do with them.

"You really don't know do you?" she asked, her mouth agape.

"I'm sorry Jordan."

"They were on my desk. Someone put them there this morning while I was in autopsy."

Nigel was slow to smile, but his smile was wide nonetheless. Instinctively, he loved a mystery and Jordan's El Camano was becoming more interesting by the minute. On a whim he booted up his computer and took one more look at lo-jack. Where there wasn't any trace before... there was now a signal.

"Well, I'll be..."

"I'll be what?" Jordan asked over his shoulder.

"There's a signal. According to this, your vehicle is...here."

"Here!"

"Yes, here." Nigel pointed to the coordinates on the screen. "The morgue. Shall we?"

Before Jordan could say anything, Nigel twirled the key ring around his finger and left. It was all Jordan could do to keep up with his long legged stride. She caught up with him at the elevators. She didn't quite know what they were going to find. She didn't know what she was feeling was either dread or relief...

"Dr. C! Dr. C! I'm so glad I caught you!"

Without looking away from the little number counting down over top of the elevator Jordan said, "Whatever it is Emmy leave it on my desk. I'm busy right now..."

"Okay," Emmy said sounding slightly stranded.

Emmy shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet. Jordan knew when it came to the high strung woman that stance's meaning could run the gambit between there was a police lock-down on the ninth floor to there were doughnuts in the break room.

The elevator doors open and Nigel stepped inside. Jordan was a little slower. She couldn't shake that feeling that Emmy was going to go postal one day and she'd be the first target. She opened her mouth ask what she wanted when the doors closed. As soon as the car started moving Jordan had no choice but to move Emmy and her message to the back burner.

It didn't take long to find what the lo-jack signal had pinpointed. There in her assigned parking spot was her El Camino. Nigel's low whistle mirrored the look on Jordan's face. There was no mistaking this was her old El Camino even through the fresh paint and new interior was enough to take a second look.

Nigel keyed the lock with an innate caution honed over years of Jordan and her little surprises and opened the door. He popped the hood and checked for anything out of the ordinary. Satisfied it was clean he started the engine.

"I don't understand," Jordan said. "Garret said it was totaled."

"It was." Nigel slid out of the driver's seat and held the door open for her.

After a test drive around the block Jordan was satisfied that all the little quirks of her car were still there. The stirring pulled to the left and the muffler rattled a little while it was in idle. While she drove Nigel helped himself to the contents of her glove compartment. A water damaged registration and insurance card were still inside but nothing else. One last fumble under the seat proved that her CD collection seemed to be intact, but the case was new. She was more confused than ever.

"Who?"

She looked at Nigel for an answer and he just shrugged. "I'll make some calls when we get back."

Nigel already had a plan for checking with all of the local garages as they made their way back to Trace. "I'll start with the places closest to impound. You start calling around South B."

"Right." Jordan said grabbing a binder from Nigel's bookshelf.

"Dr. C!" Emmy yelled from the hallway.

_

* * *

7:20PM_

As soon as Emmy said Woody's name Nigel rolled his eyes and hung up the phone. It didn't take a criminologist of his level to put two and two together. Jordan started to argue but in the back of her mind she _knew_ Woody was behind all this.

Through out the rest of the day she went from shock- to relief- to total outrage in a matter of minutes.

Now, she was sitting in front of his apartment building in her reconditioned ride.

What was she going to say to him? Thanks? What do I owe you?...How dare you? She had rehearsed a dozen speeches to herself through out the rest of the day. Nothing sounded right.

Then again...when did anything ever sound right when it came to Woody?

Jordan knew she could second guess herself to death. Not anymore...especially where Woody was considered. For the first time since she knew him the cards of their relationship were laid out on the table. All the hands had been dealt and the game was over, called a draw. There was nothing left but to split the pot...yet she wasn't ready to reach in.

She knocked on the door with forty-third version of her speech on the tip of her tongue. She mustered up as much bravado as she could find waiting for him to answer.

Woody pulled himself off the couch. He wasn't expecting visitors. He certainly wasn't expecting Jordan.

Without preamble Jordan pushed her way into the apartment, tossing her bag on the counter, looking strangely at home in his befuddled mind.

Jordan looked around reacquainting herself with his home. She was taken back. Other than a new set of free weights in the corner it looked the same. To be honest she didn't know what to expect. Something darker maybe, not just the dark-side calendar hanging on the wall marked with his aunt's birthday.

"We need to talk." she said firmly.

"I think winter is coming early this year...the Patriots are looking good...and it's good to see Garret back in the morgue. I think that about covers it Jordan." he added helpfully.

Anything to get her out of his space.

"No," she cut back. "We need to talk about my car. I know you are behind it."

Woody could easily deny it. He wanted to. "Let's just say I owed you."

"I was the one that climbed that trail when you and everyone else told me to go home."

"You found those kids. You saved their lives."

Woody stood by the door his hand itched to reach for the doorknob. The feeling double folded as her voice softened.

"Is that why you thought you owed me?"

"...No. Maybe I just needed to clear my conscience."

"Did it work?"

Woody allowed himself a cold-coffee smile; dark, bitter and slightly wired. "I stole a car. I had it striped down to the bare bones and built back up, and I didn't have the balls to take the credit for it."

"You're right. You did steal my car. You took something that didn't belong to you and messed with it."

"It was broken Jordan. It was broken and I couldn't leave it that way."

Somewhere along the line Woody forgot they were talking about a pile of steel and rubber. Jordan looked away. She felt it too.

"It wasn't your fault Woody. Strauss left me in that...hole. He ditched my car to buy some time."

"I should have made sure you made it home," Woody chuckled mirthlessly. "How many years have I known you? I knew better than anybody how well you listen to being told what to do."

"Then you know I would have probably double backed anyway."

...and she would have said the right thing, smiled the right smile...and wouldn't have been alone traipsing through the woods alone. Strauss wouldn't be waiting for her. She would have found the boys without becoming a victim herself. She wouldn't have ended up buried alive.

"When it comes to you Jordan, I wouldn't expect anything less." he said with a nod.

Woody noticed the way Jordan wrapped her arms around herself. He itched to hold her just like he did when she emerged from that hillside. Instead he shoved his hands in his pant pockets.

"I never asked you to get involved Woody." she said with careful breathe.

"No, you didn't ...but I did anyway. I came by your apartment that morning to give you the paperwork to your car. I don't know why I didn't just do my job. I thought maybe I screwed up so much already I could at least do this. "

"Are you talking about the case or something else Woody?"

This time Woody did open his door. "Everything I ever cared about is dead Jordan. I just stopped fighting the inevitable. I was just taking care of some unfinished business."

Reluctantly, Jordan took the hint and stood up fishing her keys out of her pocket. "I always thought finding closure was something woman did at the end of a relationship."

"We never had a relationship to end Jordan."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. As far as I'm concerned what we had the most real relationship I've ever known. " As she walked passed him Jordan impulsively brushed her lips across his cheek. "Thank you for...for...everything." She said jiggling her keys. "I hope I can return the favor someday."

"I'd rather call us even."

Jordan chanced a smile...The kind of smile she had flashed him a number of times. "You're not getting out of it that easy cowboy."

Woody tried to be unaffected...but he couldn't. The old Woody smiled back. "I'm not changing the oil again."

Jordan took his response as the tiniest step forward. She didn't hope to understand what he was going through when she couldn't put a name on most of her demons herself. Woody was there for her. Even though he didn't want her in his life Jordan knew she would always be there for him. That sparkle of hope made her feel better about her own nightmares.

For Woody it was like an alcoholic taking that preverbal drink. It would be so easy to acknowledge how far under her spell he still was...and would probably always be. Yet, he had nothing to offer her until he could bury his own ghosts forever. He hoped maybe, just maybe, her El Camino was one step in the right direction in reclaiming his soul.

"I'll call in a thousand miles," She announced before turning into the hallway.

Woody quietly closed his door knowing he'd be there when she called in a thousand miles.

Jordan drove away knowing that Woody's innocent smile would keep her safe from her dreams that night. She knew she couldn't fix what was wrong with Woody like he fixed her Camino. Only now there was hope and she was driving the proof.


End file.
